


hyacinths and stolen fires

by wren_rw



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Patroclus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26589367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wren_rw/pseuds/wren_rw
Summary: Patroclus had found Achilles' hiding place.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	hyacinths and stolen fires

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [alone, together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680063) by [Prozaco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prozaco/pseuds/Prozaco)



> (takes place at the end of chapter XII, after Patroclus finds Achilles on Syros, disguised as one of Deidameia’s women)

Patroclus was still walking in a dreamlike stupor when Achilles led the way to the guest quarters promised by King Lycomedes. The contents of his chest were stirred into a wild cocktail of emotion, and he felt slightly drunk off the scent of hyacinths and sandalwood- of  _ Achilles. _ It was a scent he had grown terrified he’d never breathe in again, once it faded from their sheets in Mycenae.

Their footsteps were strangely amplified in the stone corridor, the echo making it sound as if they were being followed. Patroclus cast a furtive glance over his shoulder- but the only movement behind them was the dancing of torchlight along the walls. That knowledge did little to slow the rhythm of his heart.

In Achilles’ absence, a restless sort of creature had clawed it’s way into his chest, and it was yet to leave him in peace. Just the memory of Thetis’ visit- her talons on the crown of Achilles' head, the raging blackness of her eyes- and he was once again struck with the sudden urge to flee. 

Then the back of Achilles’ hand- casually, oh so intentionally- brushed against his. At the call of his touch, he came back into himself all at once, like an errant soul returning to it’s body.    
To fret while standing at Achilles' side was much like reexamining nightmares in the light of day. Nothing seemed quite so daunting in the warm glow of his presence. 

Where would he run, now that he's found his way to Achilles' side? What is there to fear, when against all odds, against the will of the Gods themselves- they had been reunited?

When Patroclus interlaced their fingers, it felt like tying a mast to shore. 

The guest-quarters would have been just as modest and dull as the rest of the palace, if it weren't for the moon that filtered through the window. It’s white light turned the humble to eclectic, casting even the darkest corners into elegance.  
Though perhaps that was not the effect of the moon, but of Achilles’ presence- his brilliance had a way of casting it’s beauty onto everything around it, like the glinting facets of a gem.  
  
“No one will disturb us here. Lycomedes had promised us at least a night of privacy.”  
  
Patroclus turned to find Achilles already watching him, his bright eyes nearly glowing in the shadows. He was suddenly reminded of their first night together on Mount Pelion, the peculiar strain to Achilles' voice. _She cannot see us here._ Just as before, his entire body ached at the prospect of time alone, together, undisturbed by the outside world.  
  
“Good.”  
  
Achilles was upon him the very second the door was closed. All at once, the seething anxiety Thetis had planted in his soul was soothed, as if Achilles' mouth on his was healing salve unto a wound. Though Patroclus knew the strength of his limbs, they felt impossibly delicate beneath his hands- like the reeds of a woodwind instrument. It was a laughable thought- no man stood a chance against _Aristos Achaion-_ but still Patroclus found himself handling the man with care, as if somehow he could break him.  
  
As Patroclus pulled his air from Achilles’ lungs, he thought of Prometheus- his fire stolen from the gods themselves, to free mankind from their frozen torment. He wondered where Achilles had found his fire- that kept him so warm at his touch, that left him so cold in his absence. Like mankind, he was sure that he would freeze to death without it.

“I can scarcely believe you’re here.”  
Achilles breathed the words across his lips- the western wind that carried spring to Grecian gardens. Patroclus was pleased to find Achilles' cheeks had flushed to rose, the dark of his eyes blown wide. 

“You must have known I would come.”

Achilles' answer was best expressed not through words, but by the reunion of their lips.  
When they broke apart, there was a savage glint in Achilles' eye- one that Patroclus would later recognize as victory after battle. “My mother was a fool to think she could come between us.”

“Achilles.” The name came sharper than he could ever remember speaking it. “It’s unfit to speak ill of the Gods.”

Achilles did not apologize. But he did bite his tongue, and there was something repentant in the way he met Patroclus' gaze- it was easy to read the tension there, the rigid line of his shoulders. _Don't tempt fate._

“Come now, Patroclus. Don’t look like that.” His thumb smoothed the furrow in his lover's brow as easily as molding clay. “I’ve seen enough fear on your face for one lifetime.”

Despite his efforts, the tension drained like water through Patroclus' fingers. He was tired, and so grateful for their reunion that it was impossible to hold resentment for long. He managed a bit of a scoff, trying for lightheartedness. “Do I not wear it well?”

“You wear everything well.” Achilles answered as if it were a perfectly serious question, which could have been expected. His thumb against Patroclus' brow had migrated down his nose and across his cheek, clever eyes following it’s progress. “But… there are a few expressions of yours that I much prefer.” 

Patroclus could pinpoint the exact moment his expression went from contrite to impish, a wicked light igniting in the corner of his eye. The expression was familiar enough to stir a stubborn, low heat in his stomach. Even at his strongest, that look had been enough to send them tumbling across their bedroll. And Patroclus was far from his strongest that night. 

He swallowed. “Such as?” 

Achilles hummed sweetly and took half a step back, as if to consider his lover fully. Patroclus' hands followed with a mind of their own- after months of separation, even two feet between them felt like an ocean. 

With careful movements, rich in intent, Achilles' nimble fingers unwound the cloth that shielded his golden head. 

Somehow, in the turbulence of the evening’s events, Patroclus had failed to notice how Deidameia had styled Achilles’ hair. It fell in clever, flirtatious curls- completely unbefitting for a warrior- and bounced freely about his shoulders. His mouth was suddenly quite dry. 

The shock was so complete that he nearly forgot the course of our conversation- until Achilles kissed the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

“Well... there’s the face you make…. when I do this.” Achilles found the most sensitive tendon of his neck with expert precision, Chiron's lessons in anatomy coming to good use. Patroclus was struck dumb by the welcome heat of his mouth- careful and insistent all at once, so much like him. When Achilles rose to watch the flush conquer his cheeks, he glowed as if he’d just received the highest praise. “That one’s lovely.” 

“And...” Patroclus could only breathe as he ducked again, this time to take the tendon between his teeth. “When I do this-” he nipped playfully between his words, like a kitten with a length of string. Patroclus felt him smile into his skin as he jerked against him. “That’s one of my favorites.”

His fingers knit into the shoulders of Achilles' dress, half-torn between pushing away his torment and pulling him in for more. He felt as if he were Tantalus- dying of thirst- his lover's slow, leisurely movements acting as the wineskin above his head. “Achilles.”

Achilles hummed again, at the sound of his name- and it struck Patroclus, all at once, just how desperately he had missed him. Both relief and despair were locked in a battle for dominance within his chest- the fearless gladiator against the starving pack of lions. He would have drowned beneath the weight of it all, if it weren’t for Achilles’ lips against his skin.

“And then-” Every kiss brought Patroclus more thoroughly back to earth, anchoring him to the unfaltering safety of the present. Achilles pushed the tunic off his shoulder and made his way across his chest, punctuating each syllable with another press of his lips. “the face- you make- when I-” for a heart-stopping moment, Patroclus thought his hands were dipping below his waist- “ _do_ _this-_ ”

And then Achilles suddenly veered off course, to the sensitive flesh above his hip, and pinched. Patroclus yelped, writhing with an indignant cry. “Achilles!” The shout came more boyish than he had intended, so he compensated by doubling my efforts to bat away Achilles' offending fingers. _“_ _άντε γαμήσου_ _!”_

The young prince cackled at the man's obscenity, his green eyes flashing with delight. “Oh, believe me, I intend-” 

Patroclus silenced Achilles with his mouth before he could finish, drinking his laughter as he shoved him unto their cot.

That was the end to their quarrel, as Patroclus personally ensured that Achilles was much too preoccupied to retaliate for the rest of the night. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> "άντε γαμήσου" is a common Greek insult that kind of translates to "fuck off" ? Apparently? I could have just used English but European swearwords sound odd coming out of a Greek hero's mouth. 
> 
> -Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, any sort of feedback makes my day


End file.
